


An Eluvian Darkly: Doubt

by wargoddess



Series: An Eluvian Darkly [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dom/sub, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-05
Updated: 2014-11-05
Packaged: 2018-02-24 04:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2568350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wargoddess/pseuds/wargoddess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carver didn't worry that another mage wanted his Templar, 'til Cullen said, "She reminds me so of Solona."</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Eluvian Darkly: Doubt

**Author's Note:**

> For a prompt on Tumblr: Carver wonders whether Cullen will ever want someone like Solona or Meredith again, and grows jealous. Set a little while after "An Eluvian Darkly: The Question", which is itself maybe 2 or 3 years after "An Eluvian Darkly."

The first time Carver realizes another mage is angling to get Cullen as her Templar, he’s amused.  A little smug about it, to be honest.  Of course everyone wants Cullen.  Why wouldn’t they?  He’s perfect as Templars go -- the man who’s single-handedly dragging the Order back to respectability. Carver brags to the others all the time about how good he is in bed, too.  Some of them look uncomfortable about that, don’t like thinking of the upstanding, noble Knight Commander as a relentless, voracious lover, and that’s fine.  Carver doesn’t tell them about even half of the things Cullen does to him; if that much scares them, they don’t deserve to know more.

But it’s the day he hears Cullen murmur, “She reminds me so of Solona,” that he starts to worry.  Because — well, Rellen’s kind of perfect.  She’s human, a little older, very handsome in her way; a strong mage, a devout Andrastean, and a canny player in the Circle's politics.  She came to Ferelden from Cumberland, making her way across the land through the time people are starting to call the Troubles with nary a companion to watch her back or Templar to protect her; even Carver didn’t manage to do that.  And she’s as smooth-tongued as Carver is tongue-tied, as graceful as he is cloddish… bloody perfect.  And he knows —  
  
Well.  He _knows_.  Cullen doesn’t talk much about Solona.  But Carver’s heard him murmur in his sleep, seen him re-live long-ago torment in his dreams, and he knows Solona once meant enough to Cullen that a demon could use her memory as a weapon.  And he knows about Meredith, whom Cullen once loved.  Cullen has a thing for strong, upstanding women.

So Carver starts to worry.  He hears the Templars talking about how Rellen’s been _interviewing_ them, sizing up potential matches for herself and yet discarding them all as inadequate, working her way steadily up the chain of command.  Then he sees her go into Cullen’s office one day, asking if he’s got a moment to chat, and that tears it.  He’s got no excuse to go barging into Cull’s office, even if he and Cull are partnered and even if what’s between them is so much more than love as Cullen said, so instead he plants himself outside the office and waits.  It shouldn’t be long.  Cullen will turn her down gently, but firmly, and then Carver will have it out with this woman for daring to intrude upon what's his.

But he waits.  And _waits_.  An hour passes.  Two.  He hears them talking, inside.  Hears Rellen’s laugh, assured and sharp-edged and confident.  This just makes him fucking hate her — but then he hears Cullen laugh, too.

He hears.  Cullen.  _Laugh_.

That’s when he knows it’s over.

He’s dropped onto a bench outside the office, looking at his boots and thinking of how scuffed they are, _'course_ Cullen doesn’t want him when he’s such a sodding mess, when the door finally opens.  Rellen comes out, still laughing, though she stops when she sees Carver.  Probably knows it wouldn’t be polite and professional to gloat visibly, not yet, even though that’s precisely what Carver would do if he were in her shoes.  Instead she just nods to him, and to Cullen, who’s come out with her.  Cullen is smiling in his way, just that loosening of the hard line of his mouth and a hint of crinkle about the eyes, but Carver knows what his smiles look like.  And he can’t forget that laugh.  Cullen has never laughed for _him_.

She heads off, robes swishing.  Carver stares after her, thinking that’s part of it, too, he hates mage-robes but Cullen probably likes them, and maybe if Carver hadn’t been so damned stubborn and selfish and just put the bloody robes on, he wouldn’t have lost his Templar.

Cullen folds his arms and leans against the door-sill, watching him in silence for a moment.  “Carver.  Are you well?”

It’s so normal.  So like their usual interactions. He looks up at Cullen dully, wondering how he can possibly put to words the great gaping hole that losing Cullen has torn in him.

Cullen’s gaze sharpens.  “Come,” he says, holding the door open. 

So Carver goes into the office, feeling like he’s sleepwalking, walking wounded.  He’s alone again.  Marian left him and Bethany left him and his mother’s better off without him, and — and — And this is like Kirkwall, Gamlen sniping and Meeran sneering and strangers looking at him like he’s not fit to wipe the shit off their shoes, but it’s fitting, isn’t it?  Cullen needs a mage who’s good enough for him.  Carver might hate it, might seethe in resentment and hurt so much with rejection that he wants to curl up on the floor somewhere and just _ache_ , but he’s not going to be a fucking child about it.  Cullen at least deserves that much.

"I’ll move out of your place," he blurts.  He’s looking at the floor.  Can’t look at Cullen and do this with any sort of dignity.  “‘Til I — "  No.  No.  " — ‘til I find a new Templar.  I’ll talk to Irving."  Irving has always hated that Kinloch’s Knight Commander is paired with an uncouth thug of a former apostate rather than someone more elegant, more skilled, more bound to the Circle.  "Fuck.  He’ll probably put me on the first floor where it’s drafty, but I’ll ask for the third floor; I’ve earned that bloody much.  But if you don’t mind, I’ll have him put me on a night rotation, maybe nightmare-watch for the kids."  That way he won’t see much of Cullen, who works the day, and Rellen, who’s a teacher for the littles.  "I’ll take Harrowing duty, Void, anything — "

"Are you quite finished?" Cullen asks.

Carver bullies on, stubbornly.  He has to get this out before he breaks.  “If you want, I’ll tell Viv and Shiv.  Viveka probably won’t mind too much, I hear she’s been fucking Knight-Somethingorother Davison, so maybe he’ll stand as her new Templar.  Shivvie’s only four, and I don’t think she gives a shit who’s her mom’s Templar as long as Feynriel sticks around — “

Cullen sighs, takes Carver by the shoulder and turns him around and cups his head.  Carver’s still talking when Cullen kisses his mouth shut.  He forces the issue when Carver tries to pull away to protest, though he eases up a little so Carver’s got some choice in the matter, shifting from a hard drowning kiss to a series of nipping, coaxing slurps.  His grip’s loose enough that Carver can pull away but he kisses the words silent every time Carver tries to talk.  This takes awhile.  Carver doesn’t want to let longing and weakness break him down, ‘cause he’s going to _miss_ these sodding kisses and it’s not _fair_ of Cullen to use them on him when he’s just going to take them _away_ and maybe give them to that fucking _Rellen_ , but it’s clear Cullen isn’t going to let him talk so he finally gives up.  And he’s not crying or anything, there’s just dusty shit in his eyes, so he doesn’t make a sound when Cullen kisses each of his eyelids, and it doesn’t mean anything when Cullen’s arms go around him and he sort of crumples.  He’s tired.  That’s all.

"I said no," Cullen says, into his ear.

What.  “What?”

"Senior Enchanter Rellen indeed asked me to serve as her Templar."  Cullen’s lips are at his temple, tickling the hair there as he speaks.  "I refused."

But.  “She’s perfect,” Carver says, in utter confusion.  “She’s everything you need.  Why wouldn’t you — “

"You obviously know nothing of what I need."

Carver plants hands on his breastplate and pushes back from him.  It’s hard, because Cullen smells so good, like soap and metal and righteousness if that has a smell, but he can’t bloody _think_ with Cullen touching him.  “I _do_ ,” he says, hurt, because there’s no one alive who knows Cullen better than Carver does.  “She’s — “  Maker, he doesn’t want to admit this, going to sound like a great whiny tit, but “She’s like, like Meredith.  Like Solona, who saved the sodding world.  She’s all, competent and, and I don’t know, strong and, she even _prays_ and —”

"And she has no need of me," Cullen says.  He’s leaning against Carver’s hands.  Relentless. "Any Templar will be able to stand watch upon her.  While you, Carver, need a Templar who is capable of sifting through your utter ridiculousness and realizing that you have _not_ been possessed by a demon; instead you have merely _lost your mind_.”

“ _What_?”

Cullen sighs and takes Carver’s hands where they rest against his breastplate.  He coaxes them away with gentle but inexorable pressure, and pulls Carver closer again.  “ _You_ are what I need.”

That.  Is.  He wants to believe it, but he’s so scared.  “Cull, she’s — “

"Not enough for me."  He’s pushing Carver back, now, toward the office window, which is open to catch the afternoon breeze.  "Not challenge enough, not excitement enough.  Not mad enough, certainly."  Carver’s back presses up against the open shutter to one side of the window.  Cullen kisses him again, gently this time since Carver’s not trying to talk anymore.  Carver’s just staring at him, struck mute by the sudden resurgence of hope.  Cullen nods to himself, seeming pleased by this.  He lets go Carver’s hands and shifts them to Carver’s belt, undoing it with steady, decisive motions.  Carver wears armor instead of robes, but he’s still a mage; the armor’s light.  Ordinary trousers above the knees, so he can easily work his staff.  (Except now it seems like Cullen wants to work a whole other kind of staff.)  Carver stands there, dazed, trying to reason through the words and the ache and the longing.  He hadn’t thought Cullen was the type for breakup sex.

"Do you imagine I would let you put me aside?" Cullen asks.  "Not so easily, and not for so foolish a reason."

Right, then.  So he’s _not_ the type for breakup sex.  Which means this isn’t a breakup.  The ache around Carver's heart loosens like a tourniquet, and suddenly he’s all lightheaded with relief and joy.  “I just thought, you, m-maybe a better mage…”

"Better than the mage who made me a Templar again?"  Cullen’s eyes lift, hard as flints and deep as forests.  Carver blinks.  "I know of no such mage."

Carver stares at him, aching again, this time in a whole new way.  Cullen cups his cheek.  He doesn’t smile, but Carver knows this look — that strange softness and intensity, that _demand_ , that yielding, that need.  He has never laughed for Carver, perhaps, but laughter is an easy thing to coax forth.  Carver's not charming, but any charmer can win that.  No one else has ever seen this other face of Cullen's, though; Carver knows this instinctively.  Not Solona.  Not even Meredith.  Cullen gives it only to Carver.

And then Carver remembers.  Fuck.  Yes.  How could he have forgotten?  He’s been in this tower too long.  “No one else gets you,” Carver says, roughly.  “No one.  Not the _Senior Enchanter_.  Not any of the rest of this soft lot.  You’re _mine_.”  He reaches out, half-blind ‘cause there’s still dusty shit in his eyes, and starts fumbling at the straps of Cullen’s armor.  Cullen nods and moves to assist; the pieces drop to the floor quickly, and then he’s back at Carver’s pants, yanking them down.  He’s lifting Carver, hooking his legs up, gonna do Carver right here by the window ‘cause _yeah_ , that’s how it ought to be.  Let the whole bloody Tower hear them.  Carver clutches Cullen's shoulders, digs in his finges 'til Cullen looks up at him.  “ _Mine_ , do you understand?”

There’s that eye-crinkle again — and that softness, and that knowledge, and that ownership.  “I would be no other's,” Cullen says, softly. 

And then he _has_ Carver, right there, making sure it’s properly loud and scandalous, jingling chain and rattling armor and grunting breaths and everything.  Yeah.  Carver makes sure to yell extra loud when Cullen makes him come.

Which, he figures later, will probably mean even more competition for Cullen.  But why wouldn’t there be?  Cull’s bloody perfect.  Any mage would want him.  He’s Carver’s, though, and even if Carver ever lets himself forget that again, Cullen sodding well won’t. 

So Carver never worries again.

**Author's Note:**

> This was hard! I don't usually write Carver PoV, and I've never written Carver PoV in this series before. Also hard because I needed to keep it clear that Carver's not uncomfortable with the idea of sharing -- he shares Cullen with Viveka, already -- just of being found unworthy of Cullen. The old insecurity again, basically.


End file.
